When The Muse Spits Blood – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

These gums are splinter strewn with pencil shards
from musing on ideas,
chewing the fat,
picking bones from the meat of a thought
until it sits on the page just right
stripped to sinew,
muscles drawn tight
pure power
in a few dangerous words.

42 Comments

  1. This is incredibly potent! I resonate with; “picking bones from the meat of a thought until it sits on the page just right.”

    Reply

    1. Thank you. I said to Bjorn below, I’m currently redrafting a novel which is way less fun than it sounds, especially with a five-month old. Some days it feels like I spent most of my time changing nappies, and debating the placement of a single word.

      Reply

  2. Oh this cuts to the bone of it. We readers bask in the finished meal, but give little thought to the cooking process that got those words from abstract ingredients to plated fare.

    Reply

  3. Oh yes, a muse that knows how to survive in the wilderness of the world of writing. Loved how you ‘stripped to sinew’ the words. Your quadrille really illustrates another type of muse one that is ruthless in searching for perfection. Chills.

    Reply

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